


Home and Heart

by lindirs_gaze



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Fluff, Found Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-09-26 11:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20388865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindirs_gaze/pseuds/lindirs_gaze
Summary: His neighbors stared as he passed, some of them silently shaking their heads, but he paid them no mind. No one called out to ask where he was going, and he had no doubt they had already guessed.Let them judge. One more adventure couldn’t hurt his reputation much more. Thoughts of Bofur's letter had kept him up all night, and when he’d finally found sleep, he’d dreamed of mountains and winding rivers and the low singing of the dwarves.When he had woken up the next morning, there had been no doubt in his mind about what he was going to do.





	1. Chapter 1

Autumn had fallen over the Shire, filling the breeze with the scent of apples and dotting the green grass with red and orange leaves. Bilbo took a deep breath, smiling at the cool breeze that swept across the hill. This had always been his favorite season, not least because of the delicious fruits and vegetables that filled the market this time of year.

He adjusted the basket of groceries on one arm as he neared the gate to his home. Out of habit, he opened the mailbox with his free hand and withdrew the letters inside, grumbling under his breath at the thick stack of paper. He’d only been back in the Shire for a few months, and he was still getting reaccustomed to the sometimes tiring formalities of hobbits and the near-excessive-letter writing that came with it.

With a fond smile at the small rune at the corner of his green door, he stepped inside Bag End. He deposited his groceries on the kitchen table, then went to go put the letters in his study. As he set them down on the desk, he paused at the somewhat heavier shape within. It only took him a moment to locate the letter and pull it out of the pile.

He turned over the envelope, which was made of strange, thick paper. There was no return address, which was quite unusual among hobbits, but the blocky handwriting detailing his own name and address was quite familiar. A faint whiff of pipeweed drifted from the letter inside as he pulled it out.

_ Dear Bilbo, _

_ We hope your journey back to the Shire was a safe and pleasant one. Erebor is on its way to prospering once more under Thorin’s rule, with more of Dáin’s men coming from the Iron Hills to assist with reconstruction. My brother, cousin, and I have moved back to the Blue Mountains, so Bombur could be with his family. We regret not being able to visit you on our journey back, but you are always welcome to come visit us at our home. We’d be happy to have you. Tea is at whatever time you like. _

_ At your service as always, _

_ Bofur, Bifur, Bombur _

He could so clearly imagine Bofur’s friendly wink as he gazed at the signatures at the bottom, and felt a wave of longing sweep over his heart. He did miss the dwarves, and the echoing silence of Bag End had become more pronounced in the months since he had returned.

The paper creased under his touch as his mind wandered. There was nothing stopping him, was there? He still had his pack, knew what sort of rations and supplies he would need for the journey. He could always bring Sting just in case he ran into any troublesome folk along the way. This time, he would remember to lock his door in case the Sackville-Bagginses tried something again.

But he’d only just gotten here. It had taken him a couple months to get everything back in order, what with convincing people he wasn’t dead and getting back the furniture that had been auctioned off. He deserved a break, didn’t he, after trekking halfway across the world and back and with numerous near-death experiences in between. Not to mention winter would be upon them soon, and he didn’t want to get hit with a storm on the way back.

Perhaps—Perhaps he would wait until next year to take the dwarves up on their offer.

Bilbo placed the letter carefully on the desk and went into the kitchen to make dinner.

* * *

The next day saw him hurrying down the hillside—at a more sedate pace than the first time he’d run off, mind you—will a full traveling pack slung on his shoulders and Sting at his hip.

His neighbors stared as he passed, some of them silently shaking their heads, but he paid them no mind. No one called out to ask where he was going, and he had no doubt they had already guessed.

_ Let them judge _. One more adventure couldn’t hurt his reputation much more. Thoughts of the letter had kept him up all night, and when he’d finally found sleep, he’d dreamed of mountains and winding rivers and the low singing of the dwarves.

When he had woken up the next morning, there had been no doubt in his mind about what he was going to do.

So with the Urs’ letter tucked safely in his coat pocket, he turned to the west and set off towards the mountains.

* * *

The Blue Mountains weren’t as craggy and snow-capped as the Misty Mountains, but there was still something ancient and moving about the towering slopes. The sight caused a wave of exhilaration to rise in his chest—a feeling he’d nearly forgotten, but missed badly.

The path, which cut through the foothills of Ered Luin, had led him through a narrow, stony vale. He’d caught sight of a few guard towers carved into the rock, but he hadn’t been able to see inside. He was already a bit weary of the climb up the winding path, but figured the entrance to the dwarf settlement couldn’t be far off. Besides, he was eager to see his friends after days alone on the road.

When he finally did come across the gate, it nearly surprised him. It was nothing like Erebor’s ostentatious, towering entrance carved from dark green stone. This one was made of gray stone and nearly blended into the mountainside, though as he looked closely the angular dwarvish carvings made themselves known to him. He thought back to the hidden door of the Lonely Mountain with a slight smile and continued onwards.

The great wooden doors were studded with iron and flanked by two statues of axe-wielding dwarves, each about ten feet tall. Compared to the grandeur of Erebor, it did look a bit more...plain, and Bilbo could see why some of the dwarves had felt so strongly about reclaiming their former glory.

Inside, though, he was once again reminded of the dwarves’ talent with stonework. The entrance hall had a tall, arched ceiling encased in shadow. Three sets of stairs were placed around the entrance, no doubt leading to different areas of the settlement. And in the center of the room was another tall statue of a dwarf, this one with a hammer raised towards the ceiling. Looking behind, Bilbo realized there was a small window carved into the opposite wall, which would shine light onto the statue at the proper time of day.

Once he’d finished gawking, he realized he still didn’t know exactly where to go from here. The letter hadn’t given very specific directions about where to go once he’d made it to the Blue Mountains.

Well, he certainly wouldn’t mind the chance to explore a bit. He walked around the statue and took the center staircase. This led to another large hall, filled with various stalls and tents. He guessed this was the marketplace, though it looked as though people were packing up for the day. He walked between two rows of stalls, marveling at a set of ornate gauntlets before they were placed in a wooden lockbox. The lingering scent of smoked meat drifted through the air, and his stomach grumbled. If there was one thing he didn’t miss about traveling, it was the dry, hard food.

A hand clamped over his shoulder, startling him. The hand whirled him around, and he came face to face with an unfamiliar dwarf. His dark hair and beard were twisted into several intricate braids, and the armor he was wearing marked him as a guard of some sorts.

“Are you lost, Master Halfling?” Most dwarves spoke rather gruffly, but this one’s tone was bordering on hostile. That, and the use of the word “halfling,” was enough to set him on edge.

“Well, I…” Bilbo became very aware of the fact that he was the only hobbit in a room, perhaps a whole city, full of dwarves. “You see, I was just—”

“The market’s closing up.” The dwarf released his shoulder, though this did nothing to change the way he was towering over Bilbo. “You’d best be on your way.”

His face burning, Bilbo took a step back. “I was just looking for—”

“Looking for me?”

He spun around at the sound of a familiar voice. Bofur was walking towards them, looking buoyant and carefree as ever, right down to his silly hat.

He stopped and put a protective hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, his grip much gentler than the guard’s had been. “There’s no trouble to be found here,” he said to the guard. “This is Bilbo Baggins, esteemed Burglar of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. He has just as much of a right to be here as any of us.”

The guard let out a slight cough, a bit of red blooming beneath his dark beard. “Ah. Carry on, then.” He turned and walked away.

Bofur kept a hand on his shoulder until the guard had gotten a good distance away, then turned and pulled him into a hug, enveloping him in the familiar scent of pipeweed and freshly cut wood. He pulled back and grinned. “You came to visit after all.”

“I did,” Bilbo said with an answering smile. It was hard not to when Bofur looked at him like that. “And I suppose I’m lucky you came when you did.”

“I was just closing up shop. We’re still selling toys, Bifur and I.” With a tap on his elbow, Bofur prompted him to begin walking back towards the entrance hall. “Everyone’s still a bit wary of strangers here. Once word gets around about who you are, they’ll be a bit friendlier.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Bilbo tucked his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t sure how much of an effect that would have if he was only staying for a short while, but it would be nice not to have to worry about getting harassed by guards.

“You had a safe journey here, I hope?”

“Oh, yes. It was actually quite nice to be traveling again, even if it was only a few days.” He smiled awkwardly as his stomach gave a rather loud grumble. “I’m looking forward to a hot meal, though.”

“Don’t you worry.” Bofur patted him on the back. “Bombur should have dinner ready by the time we get back.”

“And how was your trip here? I didn’t realize you’d be coming back after Erebor was reclaimed.”

“Well, we’re all happy things went well with Erebor. But the Blue Mountains have almost always been our home, and Bombur was itchin’ to see his family again.” Bofur took out his pipe and lit it. “We would have come visit you on the way, but with the amount of gold we were carrying, we thought it best to keep off the main roads.”

“I understand.” Bilbo nodded. “I’m eager to meet the rest of Bombur’s family, though. He didn’t talk about them much on the quest.”

“That was more Glóin’s territory, if we’re being honest,” Bofur said, making him chuckle.

They finally came across a long, high-ceilinged hall, and Bofur led the way to a doorway set in one of the walls. Bilbo realized that their entire home was carved into the stone—not very unlike a hobbit hole, now that he thought about it.

Bofur pushed open the door, and light and laughter spilled out onto the street. As Bilbo followed him inside, he caught a whiff of a delicious stew that caused his belly to let out another grumble.

He hung his cloak on one of the pegs by the door and set his pack down just below. He made it halfway across the small entrance hall before a tide of red hair nearly bowled him over.

“He’s here, he’s here!”

“Uncle Bofur, is this the hobbit?”

“Can we call you Mister Boggins?”

Bilbo shot a panicked glance towards Bofur, who was barely holding back his laughter. He was currently chest-deep in a rather indeterminate amount of red-headed children, and was wondering if there was a particular trick to getting them to back off.

“All right, _ naddan _, come help your mother set the table.” Bombur appeared behind his brother, in the adjacent room. “Hello, Bilbo!”

“Hello, Bombur.” He grinned and followed Bofur into what appeared to be the dining room. The children, still moving chaotically enough that he couldn’t quite count them, were helping another red headed dwarf set some bowls and utensils on the table.

“This is Sanna, my lovely wife, and these are our children, Bárthur, Bjartur, Brandur, Sigga, Sólja, Svanna...” Pointing to each, Bombur continued to rattle off a list of at least a dozen names, if not more.

Bilbo blinked rapidly, desperately trying to commit the list of names to memory, but before he could get very far, Sanna had crossed the room and enveloped him in a warm hug.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, dear. Bofur talks about you all the time.”

Bofur gave a loud cough. “Need any help with dinner, Bombur?”

“It’s just about ready. Why don’t you two grab a seat?”

No sooner had Sanna released him than Bifur walked into the room and pulled him into a hug. “Bilbo! Good to see you.”

“And you as well,” he said, blinking back his surprise. He pulled back and glanced briefly at the vertical scar on Bifur’s forehead. He’d somehow lost the axe that had once been embedded in there during the battle, and was able to speak Common once more. That was going to take some getting used to.

Bilbo sat between Bifur and Bofur at the large dining table. He tried to subtly count the number of table settings, to get at least a partial idea of how many children were running around, but before he could finish, Sanna was getting his attention.

“So, how was your journey from the Shire?”

“It was good, thank you.” He resisted the urge to lick his lips as the children began to bring in large bowls of steaming stew. “I’ve never been this far west before.”

“Here you go, Mister Boggins.” One of the children set a bowl of stew in front of him.

“That’s Baggins to you.” Bofur tweaked one of her braids, making her giggle and scamper away.

“I have to say,” Bilbo said, his stomach rumbling as he took in the thick chunks of beef and potatoes swirling in the stew. “Most families in the Shire have a great many children, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many before.”

Sanna smiled. Her brown eyes were kind and soft, and Bilbo instantly liked her. “They can be a bit of a handful at times, but they’re all good children.”

They were a bit rowdy, though, chattering amongst one another and switching seats often enough that Bilbo still couldn’t get a solid count of them.

Soon, everyone was seated and tucking into their dinner, which also consisted of thick slices of bread that were still hot from the oven. Bilbo supposed dwarves didn’t eat many vegetables, but this thought was soon gone, along with most of the stew in his bowl.

“Have some more,” Bofur said, spooning some more into his bowl. “Bombur always makes too much.”

“And what about you, Master Baggins?” Sanna asked. “Do you have a big family?”

“Please, call me Bilbo. And yes, I do have a great many cousins and aunts and uncles. They’re scattered all over the Shire, though, so I don’t see all of them very often.”

“No children of your own?”

“Why, no.” He let out a small laugh. “I’m not even married.”

He likely wouldn’t ever be, and that was a fact he’d made peace with a long while ago. Until a wizard had come knocking on his door, he’d quite settled into the silence and relative emptiness of Bag End.

That being said, the rowdiness and chatter of the Urs’ home did not bother him one bit.

After dinner, the four adults retired to the sitting room to sit in front of the fire. Bilbo took out his pipe, which he’d remembered to bring with him (along with his handkerchief and a few other things he’d forgotten the first time), and Bofur offered him some pipeweed.

“So, how are things back in the Shire?” Bombur asked. He was sitting on the loveseat, hands resting on his stomach, with Sanna knitting beside him. “I hope you didn’t have too much trouble settling back in.”

“Well, I did have a bit of trouble, if you can believe it.” Bilbo shook his head. “I came back in the middle of an auction—an auction of _ my _ things. The other hobbits had assumed I was dead!”

Bifur started to growl something in Khuzdul, then stopped and cleared his throat, his cheeks reddening slightly. “They...They were robbing your...home?”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.” Bilbo paused to take a drag on his pipe. “I spent quite a bit of time negotiating everything back afterwards, once I’d convinced everyone that I wasn’t actually dead.”

“I thought hobbits were supposed to be nice,” Bofur said.

“Oh, they certainly are. I’m not dead, _ thank you _ , can I have my dining room table back, _ please _.”

Bombur chuckled at that. “Well, you’re a force to be reckoned with when it comes to orcs and elves. I can’t imagine negotiating with hobbits was that hard.”

“You haven’t met some of my cousins,” Bilbo muttered against the stem of his pipe.

“Well, you’re among friends now.” Bofur leaned over from his armchair to nudge him. “And you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo smiled and relaxed in front of the roaring fire. “I am certainly glad to be here.”

* * *

The market, which had been nearly empty when Bilbo had walked through initially, was a sight to see the next day. There were dwarves selling hot food that made his mouth water, thick swathes of colorful fabric, gleaming jewelry, weapons and armor, and all sorts of little knick-knacks in between.

More than once, Bofur had to pull him out of the way with a hand on the inside of his elbow so he didn’t run into someone in the midst of his gawking. Bilbo thought it would take at least a full day to see it all, and was glad that he had the time to do so.

“How many dwarves live here, anyway?” he asked as they walked. “It’s hard to tell how big this place is, being inside a mountain and all.”

“Oh, I’d say a few thousand,” Bofur said, waving to a gray-haired dwarf who was passing by. “Many of ‘em left for Erebor once they got word that it was reclaimed, but I suspect that some of the dwarves from the foothills should be moving in to take their places.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. I’d be nervous to make the journey all the way to Erebor, though.” Bilbo shook his head, thinking about all the difficulties they’d encountered on the way there.

“Aye, that was one of the reasons why Bombur decided to keep his family here. There are safer roads than the ones we took, though they are slower going. Either way, not really the place for a dozen bairns.”

Bofur motioned for Bilbo to walk through a narrow space next to a stall that was selling fascinating sculptures made of twisted copper wire, and they arrived at his own little shop.

A number of children were gathered around, each with a little wooden toy in hand. Bifur was already there, conversing with a couple of older dwarves. Khuzdul flowed easily from his tongue as he laughed and talked with the others, a sharp contrast to his rather quiet demeanor the night before. Bilbo reasoned that he might have just been tired.

“And here’s our humble little stall,” Bofur said, pulling Bilbo into the rather narrow space behind the counter.

He stared in amazement at the number of wooden toys crowded onto the counter, as well, as well as a few makeshift tables and shelves. “You made all of this?” He’d seen Bofur and Bifur make the occasional carving during the quest, but nothing like this.

“Oh, aye. Feel free to look around.” Bofur patted him on the shoulder, then began conversing with Bifur in Khuzdul.

Bilbo picked up a little dwarvish soldier, marveling at the detail in the beard and the designs on the belt. He picked up another with his free hand and turned it over. This one was painted with a special substance that made the tips of the boots look like real metal. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the little dwarf had suddenly scratched his beard and asked for a pint of ale.

He smiled to himself and shook his head. Here he was, well into his middle age, admiring toys with the enthusiasm of a fauntling.

He couldn’t deny that they were well-made, though. He put the dwarves down and reached over to pick up a wooden raven. Its feathers were painted black, and two tiny glass beads gave it eyes that glinted mischievously. When a small lever on its belly was pushed back and forth, its wings would flap up and down.

“Oh, this is brilliant!” Bilbo turned and tapped Bifur on the shoulder, since Bofur was busy speaking with another customer. “How did you make this?”

“Ah.” Bifur nodded as Bilbo demonstrated with the wings again. “It’s, uh, the—” He stopped and furrowed his brow. “_ Id-zunsh _—” His frown deepened. “The bird—”

Realization dawned on him. Bifur had not been reticent the night before because he was tired. After all the years of being unable to speak Common, it was only natural that he would struggle with it now.

“Well, that’s all right,” Bilbo said, the growing frustration in Bifur’s voice making his own ears burn. He did not want him to be embarrassed any more than he already was. “I’m sure you must be quite busy right now. You can tell me about it later.”

Bifur only grunted and turned back to his customers.

Bilbo took a step back, only to bump into one of the shelves and nearly send a few toys rattling to the ground. He made sure they were all steady and placed the bird back in its place. The stall was rather crowded, and he was more taking up space than anything here. After waving goodbye to Bofur, he stepped out and walked away, following the delicious smell of roasted meat a little ways away.

The rest of the day was spent cheerfully, sampling delicious treats and marveling at wonderful crafts. His encounter with Bifur, however, stayed at the back of his mind, and he decided to broach the subject that night after dinner.

Conveniently, it was just him and Bifur in the sitting room that evening. Bofur was upstairs entertaining the children, and Bombur was helping Sanna clean the kitchen, though judging by the low giggles coming from the other room, it didn’t sound as though they were getting much done.

Bifur was busy with a wood carving, having reverted to his quiet self. Bilbo spent a few minutes shifting his gaze back and forth from the fireplace to the growing pile of wood shavings in his lap before he finally gathered his courage.

“Um, Bifur,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “I wanted to apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable or awkward today. That was absolutely not my intention, but I—”

“It’s fine,” Bifur said, waving him off with the hand that held the knife.

Bilbo sighed. He’d been around dwarves long enough to know that they were not keen on asking for help or admitting weakness. But he also knew that their stubbornness was not immutable as people thought.

“Well, it seems to me that your Common needs some practice, and I would be perfectly happy to help you with that. I do, in fact, want to have a full conversation with you.” He gave a soft smile as Bifur finally looked up at him. “I feel as though I’ve been missing out since I met you.”

Bifur looked down again, blinking rapidly. He clearly needed a moment to gather his words, so Bilbo waited patiently for him to speak. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I would like...that.”

Bilbo beamed and moved seats so they were sitting closer. “I am very glad to hear that. So, why don’t you tell me about your day?”

* * *

" />

It was three weeks later that Bilbo began to feel that he was overstaying his welcome. He tried to bring it up one morning during breakfast, rather unsuccessfully.

“Well,” he began after polishing off his fifth slice of bacon. There was something Bombur did that made it taste amazing, but he would only wink and chuckle when Bilbo asked him about it. “It’s been really lovely, staying here for the past few weeks—”

“That’s good to hear,” Sanna said, scooping more eggs onto his plate.

“A-And I just want to thank you all for having me here—”

“Of course,” Bombur said.

“We’re happy to have you here,” Bifur said, still stumbling over his words a bit, though not as badly as he’d been before Bilbo had started helping him.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Bilbo said, wondering if he’d be able to get through a full sentence. “But I really don’t want to put you all out, _ not _,” he raised his voice slightly as all four began to protest, “not after you’ve been such lovely hosts…” He cleared his throat, hoping he hadn’t caused any sort of offense. “It’s just that I wouldn’t want to be on the road when the snows come, you see—”

“Aye, the winters can get pretty harsh up here,” Bofur nodded gravely. “You’d best stay until spring, then, just to be safe.”

And Bilbo couldn’t find it in himself to press the issue after that.

Bombur had already changed the subject, turning to the gaggle of children at the other end of the table. “Bjarni, you said you needed new boots, is that right?”

Bjarni shook his head, his little red braids flying around his face. “Tha’s Benrin,” he said around a mouthful of porridge. “Now hi’ boot goes—” He flapped his thumb and fingers together, imitating the look of a shoe that had the front of the sole come loose.

“Don’t speak when you’ve got food in your mouth, please,” Sanna said.

“Why don’t I take the lad down to the cobbler?” Bofur said. “I’ll be heading down that way anyway.”

“I’d like to come, too,” Bilbo said. “I’ve never been to a cobbler before.”

Sanna tilted her head. “Why? Do hobbits not—” Realization dawned on her face. “Ah, right.”

Bofur burst into laughter, and Bilbo found himself grinning along with him. It happened often enough, but whenever Bofur laughed, the room seemed just a bit brighter.

“Aye, we’ll take you to the cobbler. We could have you measured for a pair of boots, too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He rolled his eyes, lips twitching as Bofur patted him on the shoulder.

They left after breakfast, the three of them walking down one of the quieter shop roads adjacent to the market. At Benrin’s request, they each held one of his hands and lifted him up and down as they walked, which seemed to entertain him greatly. Bilbo found himself laughing along with the little dwarf. He’d always found the children back home rather sweet and fun, though of course he’d never planned to have any himself. Bombur’s children, though, were quite a delight when they weren’t so chaotic.

“Have you thought about getting a storefront like this?” Bilbo asked, gesturing to the colorful signs advertising everything from jewelry to baked goods to armor repair.

“Aye, Bifur’s brought it up a time or two,” Bofur said. “We certainly have the funds for it. Personally, I prefer the market. It’s nice to be around so many people.”

The cobbler, a rather tall dwarf with long black hair, welcomed them in with a smile. “Good morning. How can I be of service?”

“The lad just needs his boot repaired.” Bofur reached down to pat Benrin on the shoulder. “Take off your shoes.”

As Benrin sat down to unlace his boots, the cobbler shot a curious glance towards Bilbo.

Bofur took a step to the side, putting an arm around his shoulders. Bilbo smiled, heat prickling down his neck. “This here is my good friend, Bilbo Baggins. He’s a hobbit from the Shire, staying with us for a while.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” the cobbler said. He glanced down. “Though I can’t imagine my services would be any use to you.”

Bilbo laughed. “Of course not. I was just curious about this place, since we obviously don’t have any in the Shire.”

“Well, it’s simple work, but an honest living.” He accepted the boots from Benrin and set them on the work table. “I should have these done by the afternoon.”

Bofur handed the dwarf a few coins, and they left the building.

“I need to head over to the market soon,” he said. “Would you mind taking Benrin home?”

“Not at all,” Bilbo said, reaching down to take Benrin’s hand. “I’ll see you tonight, then?”

“Of course.” Bofur winked, creating a little jolt in his stomach, and set off down the street.

“Will you be alright walking in just your socks?” Bilbo asked as they headed back to the house. That was another piece of clothing he couldn’t quite make sense of—boots were already so cumbersome, so why add another piece of clothing to stifle your feet?

“Yes,” Benrin said, wiggling his toes. “How d’you go barefoot all the time? Baldur was runnin’ barefoot one time and he stepped on one of my toys and cried for hours.”

“Well, that’s because your feet are softer than mine. So you must be careful not to step on any toys or sharp things, alright?”

“Uh huh.” Benrin looked up at him, a strangely considering look on his face for such a small lad. “I think Uncle Bofur likes you.”

“Well, of course he does. We’re very good friends.”

“I think he likes you like _ amad _ likes _ adad _.”

“Oh.” Bilbo had picked up just enough Khuzdul to understand what that meant. The heat returned to his neck and crept up his cheeks. “I-I don’t know about that.”

“You should know.” Benrin looked up at him again. “You’re a grown-up.”

* * *

And so Bilbo stayed for the winter. It was a good deal cozier in the mountain, with roaring fires and hot meals and company to enjoy it with. There were no blustering winds or so much as a snowdrift to step through with solid stone above their heads.

Still, Bilbo felt himself growing anxious for some fresh air. He was a hobbit, after all, and found himself longing for green growing things, or even a glimpse of the sky.

So when the snows melted and hints of spring warmth crept over the mountain, Bilbo announced that he was going to take a walk outside.

“_ Outside _, outside,” he clarified as he fastened his cloak about his neck. “I’m just going for a bit of a stroll down the front path. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

“I’ll come with you.” Bofur stepped up next to him and leaned down conspiratorially. “There could be wolves out in the mountains.”

“Wolves?” Bilbo raised his eyebrows. He’d brought Sting with him to Ered Luin, but it had sat in his room gathering dust since he’d arrived. “Are you sure?”

“Possibly.” Bofur linked arms with him, and they stepped out the door. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry, yeah?”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, I’m always happy to have your company.” A light blush painted Bofur’s cheeks, and he couldn’t help but squeeze his arm as they set off.

Bofur waved to several of the dwarves they passed, and Bilbo smiled at a few as well. He’d gotten to know quite a few of his neighbors in the Blue Mountains during his time living there, and found most of them to be agreeable and lively. These dwarves seemed to be content with a drink and a good story, unlike the more rowdy ones from the Iron Hills that he’d briefly met before leaving Erebor.

The weather outside was brisk, but the sun was bright and warmed them quickly as they stepped through the gates.

“Were you looking for anything particular out here?” Bofur asked.

“No,” Bilbo said. It wouldn’t be mushroom season for quite a few months, anyway. “But my father used to say a nice walk outside is always good for lifting one’s spirits.”

Bofur glanced at him, one eyebrow lifted. “And do your spirits need lifting?”

“Not at all! I’ve been quite happy here,” Bilbo said, hoping he hadn’t given the wrong impression. “I only wanted a bit of fresh air after being inside for so long.”

“Ah,” he said, his brow clearing somewhat. “In that case, I know a path you might like.”

A little ways down the road, Bofur gestured for him to step off the path, past a couple of boulders and into the bare trees.

“I used to come here and hunt with Bifur sometimes,” he said, pointing out the thin trail visible in the scraggly brush.

“I didn’t know you hunted.”

“Eh, I was never very good at it. Mostly came so if Bifur got stuck by a boar or something, he’d have someone to drag him to a healer.” His tone was perfectly cheerful in contrast to the gruesome image, and Bilbo shook his head slightly.

“Let me guess—you would scare away the game with your whistling.”

“You know me too well, Bilbo.” He pointed to a spot a few feet away, where a few broken branches were visible. “Right there was where we got chased by a bear a few years ago.”

His jaw dropped. “What? What happened?”

Bofur spent the next few minutes telling the tale, in which they’d hid in a tree, then attempted to gather some honey from a bee’s nest to try and distract the bear. The stings they’d received afterwards had been the worst of their injuries by far, discounting their wounded pride.

Bilbo’s stomach hurt from laughing by the time he was done with the story. “I imagine that bear decided not to attack you out of pity, then.”

“Perhaps I should have tried that tactic with Beorn.” Bofur tugged on one of his braids, grinning.

The ground became uneven as they passed over a rocky patch, and Bilbo slipped one of his hands into Bofur’s to keep his balance. The gesture was almost instinctive, though he did notice when Bofur squeezed his fingers.

He’d had plenty of time to think over what little Benrin had said months earlier, as well as the occasional hints that Bombur and Sanna dropped as casually as they would another helping of stew. Though he didn’t know exactly where he stood with Bofur, he knew that no one else could make him laugh the way that he did. There was a certain warmth that existed between them, one he had never felt before, but now he couldn’t imagine being without it.

The sound of running water filled the woods, and a moment later, they came to a shallow stream. The water flowed beyond the banks, swelling up with melted snow from the mountains above.

“Ah, but you’re not wearing any shoes,” Bofur said. He looked down at his own boots, made of sturdy leather (and newer than the shabby ones he’d worn during the quest), then over to Bilbo’s bare feet.

“I’ll be fine,” Bilbo said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “They’ll dry off soon enough.”

“The water’s bound to be pretty cold,” Bofur said with a knowing look. “And you don’t know how to swim, besides. Allow me.” He let go of Bilbo’s hand and put an arm around his back.

“What are you—” Bilbo gasped and let out a surprised laugh as Bofur put the other arm behind his knees and lifted him up.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Bofur said with a wink as he began carrying him across the stream. And it didn’t seem to be—Bofur was carrying him with very little effort. Bilbo stored that thought away for later. He slung an arm around Bofur’s shoulders, feeling warmth beneath his arm.

“Well, it appears I am safe from drowning,” Bilbo said once they’d reached the other side. He turned to Bofur, noticing for the first time how close their faces were. “How can I repay you for this kind service?”

“You’re welcome to buy me more of those almond cakes from the market.” Bofur leaned a little closer, eyes bright. “Unless you had something else in mind.”

“I might.” Cupping his cheek with one hand, Bilbo leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Though he caught more mustache than skin, he felt a sliver of warm breath against his lips before he pulled away.

A buzzing joy swelled in his chest as red bloomed on Bofur’s cheeks. He set him down, keeping him close, and said, “Aye, that works.”

Bilbo took in a breath, but not a single witty comment came to mind. _ Well, that’s that _. He leaned up again, arms winding around Bofur’s neck, and gave him a proper kiss.

* * *

“So, there we were, at the mercy of three monstrous trolls. And they were all arguing amongst themselves about how they were going to cook us—whether we should be turned on a spit or whether they should sit on us one by one and squash us into jelly.”

A collective gasp rose from the small crowd in front of him. Bilbo and the majority of Bombur’s children were all in the sitting room. They were gathered on the floor around the armchair he was sitting in, listening closely to his tale. It was the most quiet and still he’d seen the lot of them since he’d arrived in the Blue Mountains.

“They spent so much time arguing that Gandalf appeared at the top of the boulder and cracked his staff down. The first light of dawn came through the broken boulder...and turned them all to stone!” He tried to hide a smile as a few of the children let out a cheer. “And that is where we’ll leave off for the night.”

Several of the children groaned in disappointment. “But Bilbo!” One of the little lasses came up and rested her elbows on his knee, looking up at him with a pleading gaze. “Just a little more?”

“I’ll tell you more tomorrow, Signa.” He reached over to ruffle her hair, careful of her tiny red braids. “For now, I do believe it’s past your bedtime.”

As the children gradually trickled out of the room, Bombur came in and sat in the armchair next to him. “They really do love your tale.”

Bilbo smiled. “And I enjoy telling it.” At first he’d been hesitant to do so, worried that some of the more grisly details would scare the younger children. But a watered-down version of it seemed to entertain them well enough.

Bombur reached over and patted his arm. “And thank you for not telling them about their _ adad _ almost getting eaten.”

“That wasn’t a particularly dignified moment for any of us, really,” Bilbo said, grimacing at the memory of troll snot covering his body—a detail he’d also made sure to leave out.

He chuckled and leaned back. “Still, perhaps the quest itself is deserving of a place in the history books.”

“I’ve often thought about writing down my own account,” Bilbo said, copying his position.

“Perhaps you could write one for our halls, as well. It would give you an opportunity to practice your Khuzdul.”

“Hm?” Bilbo sat up. “What...What do you mean?” He’d picked up a few words between listening to other conversation and helping Bifur with his Common, but no one had offered to give him formal lessons. He’d picked up as well that the language was a secret meant to be kept between dwarves.

“Well, there’s something we’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” Bombur looked at him, his expression growing serious.

Bilbo straightened as Bifur, Bofur, and Sanna came into the room and sat down as well. “A-All right.” Nerves prickled under his skin. “What is it?”

“You’re good for our family,” Bombur said. “My children adore you, and the rest of us do too, obviously.”

Bofur smiled and winked at him, and Bilbo felt some of the tension in his shoulders dissolve.

“If you’re agreeable to it, we want you to stay,” Bombur continued, “for good. You’d be part of the family.” He reached over and took his hand. “One of us.”

“Oh.” Bilbo blinked rapidly, looking around at the four dwarves. He could feel the warmth in their expressions, and felt something light and happy expand in his chest. “Oh.”

“We could teach you Khuzdul, and some of our customs,” Bifur said, his Common flowing almost perfectly.

“Including proper courtship,” Bofur said with a grin.

“I—well—yes.” Bilbo cleared his throat, blinking against the moisture that sprang into his eyes. “Yes to all of that. I-I would be very happy to…”

“Oh, come here.” Sanna stood and crossed the room. She lifted him from his chair and wrapped her arms around him. “No need for tears.”

He couldn’t help but let out a stuttering laugh and leaned his face (not as dry as he would have liked) on her shoulder as Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur joined in on the embrace.

* * *

A few weeks later found them on the slopes of the Blue Mountains, breathing in the cool air. It had warmed up enough that their breath didn’t fog anymore, and the first budding leaves had already appeared on the trees, but they each had a warm mug of tea cradled between their hands.

“Aye, this is quite beautiful,” Bombur said.

Bilbo adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. “I told you this would be worth waking up early, didn’t I?”

The sky before them was painted a deep pink with a glowing heart of gold as the sun rose above the horizon. The hills below were still in shadow, turning a deep purple under the fading mists of dawn.

“_ Ibrizbakn _,” Bifur said. “Sunrise.”

“_ Ibriz-ba-kun _,” Bilbo tried.

He elbowed him gently in the side. “I’ll test you on that when we return home.” They both chuckled at that.

“You’re coming along nicely,” Bofur said, squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll make a proper dwarf out of you yet.”

Bilbo shifted slightly so he could lean back against his chest. “Well, if you try to get me a pair of boots, I’ll have to remind you that I _ am _ still a hobbit.”

A strand of dark hair tickled his temple, and he smiled. Bofur had overslept as usual, and hadn’t had time to do anything with his hair before they left. Bilbo thought it looked wonderful hanging loose around his shoulders, though he hadn’t quite perfected the braids himself. His own hair was too short to do much with, so his courting bead, a twin to the one Bofur wore, hung on a cord around his neck.

“I’ll not argue with that.” Bofur rested his arms loosely on Bilbo’s shoulders in a casual embrace. “I was worried, though, thinking of you all alone in that big old house down in the Shire.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Bilbo said, closing his eyes. He still had a great deal of correspondence to do, to make sure Bag End and its contents went to the proper people, but it wasn’t a great source of anxiety for him. “I’m not alone anymore.”

“Aye. You’re home, now.”

" />


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a drabble requested on tumblr, for the quote, "Marry me?" and I thought it might serve as a nice spiritual successor to the previous installment. Enjoy!

That afternoon, Bilbo found that he was not able to get back home.

He’d made it all the way to the door of the stone house he shared with the Ur brothers, but getting through it was another matter entirely.

The first time, when Bombur intercepted him at the door and asked him to pick up some ginger from the market, he thought very little of it. He loved dropping by the market and seeing all the wonderful foods and crafts there, and happily accepted the task.

However, when he returned with the ginger, Bombur was there again to accept it with a grateful smile. “Uh, Bilbo, I’d forgotten to ask before, but I’m all out of salt. Would you mind fetching some for me?”

It sounded as if there was some sort of commotion going on inside, but Bombur was rather successfully blocking the door with his body. Bilbo tried to peer around him anyway. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, right as rain! It’s only that I was planning on a roast tonight, and I’ll need to get started on it early.”

“Very well. Is there anything else I should get while I’m out?” 

“I don’t think so. But you’ll be the first to know if it occurs to me.”

Bilbo cast another suspicious glance at Bombur, but gained nothing from it. He was best out of all of them at feigning innocence. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Much appreciated, Bilbo!” And the door swung closed.

During his third attempt to get through the door, Bifur was waiting for him on the steps. At the sight of Bilbo, he leapt up and patted him on the back. “Ah, Bilbo. I was just about to–”

Bilbo sighed and planted his hands on his hips. “Bifur, I have spent the day running around gathering Mahal-knows-what for your cousin. Would it be possible for me to step inside and put my feet up for a moment?”

Bifur cleared his throat. He seemed somewhat sympathetic to Bilbo’s plight, though he still motioned for him to stay on the stoop as he stepped through the door and shut it behind him. He could hear a few muttered words of Khuzdul on the other side, too quick for him to make out much. When Bifur stepped through the door, he caught the tail end of Bofur’s, “…not ready yet!”

Well, whatever was going on in there, it didn’t seem particularly bad. Bilbo was not entirely sure what Bofur was planning–even though they’d been courting for months now, the dwarf still managed to surprise him.

He looked up at Bifur and shrugged. “I suppose I’ll go take a walk, then.”

“Aye.” Bifur nodded gratefully. “Come back in a half hour or so.”

Bilbo set off down the street, hands in his pockets. Now that he had a slightly better idea of what was going on, anticipation began to simmer in his stomach. He was not sure what Bofur and the rest of his family had planned, but it seemed to have something to do with _him_. It was a wonder Bofur had managed to keep whatever this was a secret for this long.

By the time he made his way back to the door, the house had fallen silent, and there was no one to greet him (or prevent his entry). Cautiously, Bilbo stepped inside. The interior of the house smelled strangely…floral.

He continued on, drawn to the flickering light illuminating the sitting room. Bracing himself, Bilbo stepped through the entrance–and froze.

Every surface was covered in flowers. There were bunches of chrysanthemums on the armchairs, marigolds populating the spaces in between the carvings on the mantelpiece, rose petals littering the floor. Somehow space had been made between the flowers for several candles to illuminate the room as well.

Bofur was standing in the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back, looking the most nervous Bilbo had ever seen him.

A grin was rising on Bilbo’s face, though he still had very little idea as to what was going on. “Bofur.” He took a step forward, eyes lifting to his handsome face. “What’s all this about?”

Bofur opened his mouth, cheeks immediately reddening. “Well–” He cleared his throat. “I only wanted to, uh…”

Smiling, Bilbo crossed the room and put his hands on Bofur’s shoulders. He certainly did not want him to be nervous, but there was something quite endearing about it as well. “It’s all right, love. Just tell me what this is for.”

Bofur struggled with his words for a moment longer, before earnestness broke through the anxiousness in his expression. “Marry me?”

_Oh_. Bilbo dropped his hands from Bofur’s shoulders. That was not what he’d expected at all.

But he already knew his answer. “Yes. Yes, of course I will.”

At this, Bofur’s face broke into that beautiful grin he loved so much. He reached out and scooped Bilbo into his arms with a happy laugh. “Ah, Bilbo! That means the world to me.”

“I’m glad you asked,” Bilbo said softly, wrapping his arms around Bofur’s neck. He glanced towards the doorway and saw Bifur, Bombur, and the rest of the family standing there, teary smiles on their faces.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d react,” Bofur replied. “Not sure how proposals are done in the Shire, but I made my best guess.”

Bilbo laughed. “And it was a fine attempt you made.” His nose twitched as it caught a strange scent. “Uh, Bofur?”

“Hm?”

“I think one of the flowers caught fire.”

“Oh!” Bofur released him and rushed to put out the flame. And even then, all Bilbo could do was smile, surrounded by flowers and his wonderful family.

**Author's Note:**

> There's not a lot of canon info on the Blue Mountains, so some of the descriptions were taken from LOTRO. And the Khuzdul words and names are all sources from the amazing Dwarrow Scholar.
> 
> Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this, and it was really cool to try writing Boffins for the first time!  
The amazing art in this fic is by [geetimesthree](https://geetimesthree.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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